


Legacy

by meaninglessblah



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 18:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19090891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: “Just consider this a retirement plan,” Bruce says with a wry grin.





	Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> 6/08/2019 - Quineon: I just found this under "My Dashboard". As generous as my friend is I cannot accept the honor she surprised me with and bestowed upon me. I had nothing to do with this work. It solely belongs to Meaninglessblah.

Jason stares down at the map in his hands, lifting his gaze to frown at Bruce where he stands framed by the glowing blue screens of the computer bank. “What is this?”

He knows exactly what this is. It’s a map of Gotham, meticulously detailed to show every slip and back alley from Tricorner all the way up to Amusement Mile. Jason knows this city like the back of his hand. He _breathes_ Gotham, deep in his lungs and down to his veins.

Bruce offers him a wry smile, and Jason has to take a moment to acknowledge how that expression - any expression - looks on his face. It’s not that Jason doesn’t see him smile. It’s just that with the cowl on, he rarely gets to see that sort of humour reflected in his eyes. Mirth has a way of making Bruce look older, but softer somehow. Jason hasn’t quite worked out where it comes in yet, but it’s somewhere around the crows feet and the arch of his brows.

He’s sure he’ll work it out someday. They’ve got time.

“The North End,” Bruce replies, and nods his head towards the map, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s yours.”

Jason’s frown deepens. “Come again?”

Bruce’s smile doesn’t grow, but it takes on a more fond edge. “I want you to patrol the North End of Gotham.”

“I already patrol the North End of Gotham,” Jason counters slowly, hesitantly. He feels like he’s being tested, but he’s not sure what on.

A chuckle escapes Bruce’s lips, and Jason tries not to convince himself that shit’s gone sideways. Sure, the old man’s been chirpier since he came back from the dead; Jason can appreciate how re-mortality can improve one’s optimism, definitely. But Jason hasn’t heard Bruce laugh in so damn long he’s almost forgotten what it sounds like.

“Just the North End,” Bruce clarifies, and comes up to Jason’s side where he’s sitting at the long board table, heels propped up next to a slice of Alfred’s famous carrot cake. Jason tries not to tense at the proximity. Bruce runs a finger over the ribbon of the Sprang River that neatly carves apart Gotham’s topmost third. “Everything north of the Sprang. I want you to be it’s ward.”

Jason blinks, glances down at Bruce’s finger where it rests just over Otisburg, then looks back up at him again. “You’re joshing.”

Bruce huffs softly, the sound amused. “No. North End needs a ward. If you’ll take it, that is.”

Jason scowls and pulls his feet off the table, letting them thud to the floor as he lays the map gingerly across the table. He doesn’t break his gaze from Bruce’s face, studying his expression for the first sign that he’s backing out. “You get that I’m a bit sceptical about this, right?”

The sigh that heaves from Bruce’s chest has all the hallmarks of a lifetime of remorse. “I can understand that, yes.”

“I’m not handing in my guns,” Jason stresses. “Or toning it down, or whatever you want to call it. Not even if you offer me this in exchange. I’m not following those conditions. I’m not being beholden to your philosophy.”

Bruce’s tone is solemn, his expression even more so. “I understand.”

Jason straightens in his chair a bit, disliking the height disadvantage it puts him at. It’s not threatening per se, but he still doesn’t appreciate the discrepancy between his former mentor. “I’m not changing for you, for my city. Gotham needs people like me to set her straight.”

“I understand that too,” Bruce responds evenly. “Which is why I’m asking you to watch over North End.”

“Even with the guns?”

“Even with the guns,” Bruce says solemnly.

Jason sits back in the chair, a little stunned. His head feels light, like its not properly attached at the neck. “What prompted all this, old man?”

Bruce laughs, leaning back against the computer bank. He looks young again, the way Jason remembers him from before, when he could make the man laugh with a snappy one-liner and a great right hook to a thug’s jaw. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Call it a near-death experience. Helps rearrange one’s priorities.”

“Patrolling Gotham’s not a priority to you?” Jason presses, because he’ll believe that Bruce will hang up the cowl when the sky turns green and Gotham River runs purple.

“I didn’t say that,” Bruce returns. “I’m not giving up on Gotham. I’ve just come to realise that there’s maybe a few things that the Batman can’t provide. A father figure, for example.” Jason’s mind flashes to Damian, younger than any of them and leagues more capable. Leagues more vulnerable, too. “Damian doesn’t need the Batman; he needs a father. I can’t be that person for him if I’m Gotham’s eternal patron, or if I’m... dead.”

It’s a heavy word, and it hangs between them, leaden in their throats. They both know, better than any of them, exactly what that word means, how much it can choke everything up in a haze and smoke, until you can’t remember what’s important to you anymore. There’s a sort of clarity in death, Jason thinks on his more level days. Other days he drinks the smoke in, just for the reprieve of the haze. Not often anymore, though.

“Just consider this a retirement plan.”

He’s definitely smiling now, some of that more vicious grin creeping back into it. Jason hasn’t seen that sort of grin in nearly a decade. It knocks the breath out of him a little. “So why me?”

Bruce frowns very slightly, lips closing over smug teeth. “What do you mean?”

“Why pick me to take the North End? Why not Black Bat, or Tim? They seem like they’d have a better grasp on enforcing the whole Bat philosophy on a few Burnley thugs than me.”

“Because North End would chew them up and spit them out,” Bruce answers with sincerity. “I’m not doubting their commitment, or their skill. But the North will - and has - done a number on them before.”

“But not me?” Jason asks with the arch of a brow.

Bruce shrugs. “You can take the kid out of Crime Alley...” he says knowingly, and Jason snorts. Bruce’s tone sobers a bit. “You know those streets better than any of them. And the North End requires a special touch. More of a… heavy-handed approach.”

Jason smirks and intertwines his arms over his chest. “Heavy-handed, huh?”

Bruce gives him a look that sets Jason back a dozen years, to when he had first worn the scaly green shorts and pixie boots. There’s a challenge in that gaze, but there’s a trust too, a faith Jason hasn’t had the privilege of seeing reflected back from those blue eyes in an age. A look he’s been clamouring for since he set himself back on the straight and narrow. “You think you’re up to it?”

And Bruce doesn’t look frail, but beneath the artificial glow of the screens, he looks his goddamn age. Serving as Gotham’s silent protectors has left scars on all of them, but Bruce has been shouldering that burdened longer than all of them combined. He’s borne the weight without so much as a complaint, but Jason can see the bow in his back from all these years carrying it, at times alone.

It’s a sobering sight, to see your hero’s mortality reflected back at you. They’ve both got streaks of white in their hair now. Death has rubbed elbows with them, and they both wear the signs.

Jason likes to think he wears it a little better.

He huffs a laugh after a moment, shaking his head in disbelief as he pushes to his feet. “Don’t worry, old man,” he chirps and offers his hand. “I’ll take good care of your city.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> One more chapter to come: Jason gives Dick the good news.


End file.
